THE FATE OF A POOR MAN'S SON, PART 15
By Master Redbeard A new arrival at the estate
This story involves erotic situations and actual sexual contact between males - as well as humiliation, exhibition, and much of the usual stuff for this genre. If you are not at least 18 years of age (or whatever legal age is where you are) go away now! If you are offended by the content of this story go away now! If you are in a jurisdiction in which it is illegal to read or possess such fiction stories go away now (well, it would be better if you could get the hell away from that jurisdiction). And if you are someone who cannot distinguish fantasy from reality, please go away and get some help.
I welcome reader response (no flames). Include name of the story in title line. You can reach me at email address below.
THE FATE OF A POOR MAN'S SON, chapter 15
By Master Redbeard (redbeardedsf at yahoo dot com)
Captain Winston's younger son Randy had not come back to the estate at all for the semester break. Instead, he took off to spend a semester studying in Europe. Slaves are not supposed to listen in on the conversations of free men, but the captain would launch into a string of epithets each time Randy's name was mentioned or any time Europe was mentioned. From what I heard of his itinerary, Randy was visiting abolitionist countries like Sweden and Belgium. I missed Randy's kindness, but I was glad the boy was away from his awful father.
Soon enough I lost track of days at the estate. I would service the captain sexually or I might be called upon to service his houseguests. More and more the captain would call me up to his rooms along with another slave - at first it was always with Rye, but soon there was variety - and have us perform for him. Our master would pass out in a drunken stupor before our sex act was complete. But since he was capable of waking up at surprising moments, we would continue our scene. Many times I found myself enjoying the sex - I had stopped worrying about what that meant to my heterosexuality.
There was another evening where I was cast in the after dinner entertainment. This was indoors but when I was handed the khaki outfit and the pony slaves were given their small bits of cloth to wear, I knew we would be re-enacting the cannibal scene that I'd so recently seen Eddie perform. I acted panicky and jostled about hanging from the pole as the tall black men carried me onstage, but it was all an act for me. I had already taken both African dicks inside me. I felt I was beyond letting anything effect me.
After our performance I sucked about a dozen cocks. I noticed that Erik's father was not in the crowd this time. When I thought I had finished, I was dragged over to a dark corner of the room once again. I thought I remembered the foul smell of Judge Snow's crotch and the bitter taste of his cheesy cock, but once again I was overpowered by the sheer unpleasantness of the morbidly obese man.
When I finished swallowing the judge's meager load, he again called to his friend, my master, to ask whether he could borrow me. The captain simply said, "We shall see."
That night as I fell asleep in Rye's arms, I thought about the prospect of being loaned out to Judge Snow. As repulsive as the fat man was, I told myself, "I'm beyond letting anything effect me." I repeated that mantra till I was sound asleep, calm, living in the moment.
But my resolve to remain unaffected was shattered the next morning. I served the captain in his morning shower, but he hadn't asked for his usual morning blowjob. As I was drying him, he seemed eager to get to his sitting room. I had to follow him with the towel still patting at his big wet body. He stopped, stood beside his desk, and then indicated he was ready for his blowjob.
I slurped up and down his meat, feeling it jump quickly to full size in my mouth. Usually he didn't bother speaking to me, especially not while I was sucking his cock. But that morning he looked down and said, "I just wanted to look at some pictures of the slaveboy I'm expecting in a few weeks."
His behavior was out of the ordinary, but I just kept on sucking the man's stiff cock as he took a manila folder from his desk and opened it. He chuckled a bit as he said, "My good friend, the headmaster, had such hopes for this lad. Too bad this boy is going to be caught red-handed stealing from the school two weeks from Sunday." I knew he was talking about my little brother, but I tried to stay focused on the cock in my mouth. "The new boy has such a soft-looking lower lip, Wally, so much like yours." With that the captain grabbed the back of my head and thrust forward so that his pulsing cockhead slammed against the back of my throat. I gulped as fast as I could while my master shot his hot cream.
There was that evil laugh again. I was cleaning his cock with my tongue as the captain turned one of the pictures in his manila folder to face me. The picture showed my little brother, Will, in a Speedo - it must have been as part of the school swim team. Will was bending over so that the top of his crack was exposed above the waistband of the tiny swimsuit, and the valley between his cheeks was a thin shadow.
The captain licked one finger and ran it along the shadow that was Will's crack. He just grinned at me and snarled, "Heheheh."
I looked up at him. I actually met his eyes. I spoke, "Captain... Master, sir, please you ca-ca-ca...." I couldn't get myself to finish that sentence.
He stood to his full height towering over me and bellowed, "Aside from the impudence of speaking without permission, were you going to tell your master what he could and could not do, slaveboy?"
That was the moment I was supposed to grovel and beg his forgiveness. But I knew I had already earned a punishment and if I let this moment pass it would never come again.
"P-please, M-master, forgive this unworthy slave for speaking. B-but the boy is still so young. The boy is only...."
His hammy fist slammed across the side of my head as he lifted up a piece of paper and pushed it against my face. "The boy is eighteen!" he screamed at me. "Slaves are not worthy to even look at legal documents, but I'm showing it to you! Damn ungrateful brats in your whole family! I have a legal document signed by Judge Snow stating that the new slave I will receive next week is legal age."
I was frozen to the spot. Where had I heard that scenario before? Of course, it was Rye's story about his enslavement. When he was still so young and he had reminded Captain Winston of his age, the captain had waved a legal document declaring that the boy was already eighteen - and therefore available for sex. I thought of what Will looked like in the swimsuit picture. Nobody could believe this was an eighteen-year-old. But then again, nobody in the town of Winston ever questioned the actions of Captain Winston or of Judge Snow.
The next thing I knew Rye and another slave were dragging me out the back of the house. I was being strapped into an X-shape on the whipping frame. Rye whispered trying not to move his lips as he asked, "What the hell did you do, you fool? How did you get our master so angry?" But I couldn't answer.
All the slaves were gathered around in a semi-circle to watch my punishment. I heard the voice of the captain, but I couldn't turn to see him. "This slave not only spoke without permission, but he had the audacity to question his master's actions. He will be punished and you will all witness the punishment."
Captain Winston brushed the whip around my neck and shoulders so I could see it. He announced to the crowd, "As terrible as his actions were today, this is the slave's first time on the whipping frame. Therefore, I am being merciful and only giving him twenty lashes with the short whip." The captain moved closer to my ear and grumbled, "You went without a whipping or even a caning for quite some time, boy. That was because I wanted to keep your pretty ass all tender and fresh. But now that I'm bored with fucking you, it'll be fun to put some stripes there."
They say that once a slave has been whipped he is never the same again. The first slice of the whip across my back was so intense I could not even scream in pain. The second whiplash hit my buttocks and the third went across my thighs. It was the fourth lash that finally caused me to howl in agony. The captain had purposely crossed the first lash mark and the spot where they met felt like a burning knife wound. I continued sobbing and howling through the next ten or twelve lashes. But my throat was too sore to yell and my eyes too puffy to cry by the time my master neared the twentieth lash mark across my butt.
He grabbed my face and in a loud voice said, "The next time it will be a horsewhip and I'll be sure to lash it a couple of times across your cock and balls." Then he spat at me and yelled, "What do you say, slaveboy?"
Without a moment's hesitation I called out as loudly as my weakened state would allow, "Master, thank you, Master!" Then I was aware of the captain's creepy, evil laugh and after that I passed out.
Rye cared for me. I was given the rest of that day to heal, but put to work the following day. Of course it was painful for me to move when I was assigned to carry and place heavy paving stones. But I worked as hard and as fast as I could. I was not about to do anything to displease my master.
As Rye and I were digging in the garden I spoke under my breath and told him about the captain's plans to enslave my younger brother. It was clear that the captain had set me up so that I would speak out and he would have cause to punish me. I then told Rye about the phony document from the court attesting to my brother's age. There was a faraway look in the big slave's eyes and I thought for a moment that he would cry. He looked at me as if thinking what to say. Finally he looked to the ground and said, "You're a slave, Wally. You just have to be concerned with your own survival." Then he returned to digging.
There was a salve that helped whip marks heal faster. But as I felt the flesh on my ass cheeks, Rye remarked that even if the marks did not show, there would now always be some tougher skin under the surface. My ass would never be the tender smooth flesh it was when I'd first become a slave on the Winston estate.
More days passed and on a sunny afternoon I was sent to serve drinks at the gazebo overlooking the swimming pool. This was the same pool where I had played with the captain's sons so many years earlier. As I approached I saw the captain with Mr. Blank and I headed toward them. But then I saw splashes in the pool and Mr. Blank's twin sons popped out of the water, laughing and chasing each other.
I brought the iced teas to the table. The ones for the two men were spiked with gin while the boys' teas were sweetened with extra sugar. The twins leaped out of the pool and I saw they had both been swimming in their white underpants. The thin cotton was virtually see-through from the water. The weight of the water made one pair of briefs droop down revealing one boy's backside.
"Don't show your bottom in front of a slave, boys," Mr. Blank called out. "You were warned how nasty and sex-obsessed slaves can be." Then the man turned to the captain and added, "Would you believe when this slaveboy was still free I used to let him baby-sit for my sons?"
I saw the look on the captain's face. He chuckled softly but I don't know if he even heard what Mr. Blank said. He was mesmerized by the slim sleek bodies of the wet boys. His eyes seemed glazed over and his tongue flicked out to quickly lick his lips. My stomach turned.
The indulgent father sent his boys down to the far end of the pool so he could talk business with Captain Winston. I stood at slave rest position, ready to serve the men, but treated like a piece of furniture. I heard the two of them talking about a contract, about a loan from the captain, about collateral to secure the contract. And then the captain mentioned the twins.
"If it weren't for my bankers I'd simply forego the very question of collateral, since I have such confidence in your venture." Captain Winston sounded so solicitous. "But even if the very worst happened - well, the boys would come to me and you know how I feel about the little fellas, heheheh."
Mr. Blank was looking down at the contract. Clearly the man did not know how the twisted pervert truly felt about his young sons. I saw the captain gazing off into the distance. I followed his gaze and saw that the blond brothers were wrestling, each one pulling down the wet underpants of the other one.
"Boys!" Mr. Blank shouted. "What did I tell you about letting the slaveboy see your bottoms?"
Then Mr. Blank turned his attention to me in another way. He whispered something to the captain who smiled and said, "Go ahead, I'll keep an eye on the twins."
Mr. Blank grabbed me by my slave collar and pulled me into the changing room. As the door closed behind us, I heard the captain call out to his young charges, "You can drop the undies if you like, boys. The slaveboy can't see you now."
Damn! How far in advance did the captain make his nefarious plans? The twins were even younger than my brother. How long till Mr. Blank's contract would come due and the captain would take possession of the boys?
I turned to Mr. Blank. For a moment I wanted to warn him. I wanted to tell him not to sign his contract and to take his boys as far away from the captain as he could. It was too late for me and would soon be too late for my brother, but there was no reason he had to put his twin boys in the hands of the sex-obsessed captain.
But Mr. Blank was determined to be brutal and cruel to me. He pushed me over and grabbed my hips. He shoved his cock into me without any lubricant and he fucked me hard. "Yeah, I saw the way you were looking at my little boys," the nasty man said. "I know all about slaves - that story of the trusted household slave who went berserk and raped the master's son and all his young friends at his sleepover!" (It had been shown many times over that this was an urban myth. But the myth kept being repeated because it suited the tough-on-slavery lobby that dominated American politics.)
Mr. Blank was panting, fucking my bottom, and rambling on, "But the doctor checked their sphincters. I took them to the captain's doctor for a checkup so they could be collateral for my loan. The captain's doctor said nobody had tampered with my sons back there." My mind was screaming, "You bloody moron! How could you be so blind to the captain's motives?"
And then Mr. Blank collapsed on top of me, filling me with his cum and then giving me his cock to clean off. He laughed as he walked out of the changing room without looking back.
Yes, the father was an asshole. But it would be the sons who would suffer. But I remembered what Rye had reminded me: I'm a slave. I just had to be concerned with my own survival.
Once again I lost track of days. That happens so easily when you're a slave and one day seems like the last. So I was taken by surprise when Rye led my little brother Will into the slave bathing room. The boy was collared, with a SIN tattooed across his collarbone. He undoubtedly had the same SIN tattooed across one butt cheek, but it was hidden by the boy's white briefs - the same brand of underpants he wore when we had lived at home as a happy family.
I wanted to run and hug my brother, but I couldn't bring myself to move. I merely mumbled, "I'm sorry to see you like this, Will."
"It's OK," the boy said, trying to muster what confidence he could. "The captain saved me from having to be auctioned off. He promised to investigate the police report that got me sentenced. At least I have a good master. Right, Wally?"
At that moment I must have turned to adjust a faucet. I heard my younger brother gasp. "Damn, you must have been a very disobedient slave to get whipped like that, Wally. What did you do that was so bad?"
I had gotten used to the marks on my back. They were mostly healed and only bothered me at rare moments. But there were welts and discoloration where the whip had struck. "It's a long story," I mumbled, not meeting his eyes.
Then Rye led Will forward and said, "When you see the marks of the whip on Wally's back and ass it's to make you understand that you have to be obedient and follow all your master's commands quickly and eagerly."
"No!" I blurted out before I even realized what I'd said.
Rye grabbed my arm and muttered, "Think about the horsewhip across your dick and your balls, Wally." That was a blunt enough way to tell me to shut up.
"Does the boy need his pubes shaved?" I asked Rye, trying to get down to work.
Will protested, "Yeah, I got pubes!" He really was so young and so innocent.
As I lathered the shaving cream I thought back to the morning when the captain had showed me Will's picture. I'd had the captain's cock in my mouth at the time. If I could turn back time... I thought, if only I would have bitten the man's cock off. If only! Of course I would have suffered the most agonizing and torturous death. But at least that evil pervert wouldn't be able to use his cock on my little brother.
It only took two swipes of the blade to remove the light patch of blond hairs above the boy's penis. Through the cleaning and the enemas, my eyes kept clouding up with tears. Fortunately, Rye took the lead and I only had to assist. Then we dressed Will in his own white briefs and Rye led him upstairs to the captain's quarters.
But the two of them returned downstairs less than five minutes later. Rye looked ashen. In a soft voice he said, "The captain wants you to escort the new slaveboy upstairs."
I walked like a zombie up to the captain's familiar door. I made sure Will was in proper slave rest position. Then, knowing that the captain was probably watching from his remote hidden camera, I whispered, "Remember, you're a slave. You have to do what your master commands." Then I knocked on the door and heard the booming voice say, "Enter."
It was hours later when I returned downstairs to Rye. He tried to hug me but I pulled away from him. I spent the next five hours polishing fixtures in the room and then polishing them all again. I never looked at Rye. I tried to stay as far from him as I could. And he had the sense to know I didn't want any conversation.
After five hours there was a bell. Rye went upstairs and returned a few minutes later with Will. The boy was dressed in his white briefs, but the fabric was torn from the elastic waistband. His eyes were red and puffy from crying. I turned away. I didn't want to be witness to any further damage.
Rye looked to me and then said to Will, "I'll get you cleaned up, boy. Wally needs a break; he's been working too hard."
Will glared at me his lips set in a scowl I had never before seen on his cute face. "Good," he snapped. "I don't want my filthy pervert big brother touching me ever again."
I refused to tell Rye what happened inside the captain's rooms that night. I've still never told anyone. I have refused to even replay the incidents of that night in my head. And, although time has passed and many pains have faded, I cannot recount it now.
(Chapter 15A is Will's account of everything that happened the first night he was taken to Captain Winston's rooms. This subsidiary chapter will be available on Nifty, but is outside of Yahoo's guidelines and therefore will not appear on SlaveNow or SlaveFuture.)
The following day Rye and I once again prepared Will for the captain. Will and I never spoke and never met each other's eyes. At one point, Will turned to Rye and snapped, "Does he need to be here?"
Rye seemed caught off guard but regained his composure and softly said, "We have a job to do. New slaves should just keep their mouths shut and let us do our job." Still I let Rye take the lead and did my best not to have any physical contact with Will.
This time Rye brought Will upstairs to the captain's room. As soon as Rye had left the bathing room and I was putting things in order, a tall overseer appeared in the room and grunted for me to approach him. Since I served in the house and the gardens I didn't have contact with the free men overseers who supervised the hard labor slaves.
I stood obediently in front of the overseer, fearful that he was here to give me some further punishment. He simply turned and said, "Follow me." He never looked over his shoulder as he strode quickly out the back of the house and across the lawns to the slave quarters. The overseer walked to one of the slave barracks, unlocked the bolt on the door, and pushed me in front of him.
There was a room crowded with narrow cots. I would later count twenty cots and twenty hard labor slaves. Every one of the big brutes looked up toward me as I entered. "You got a new roommate," the overseer shouted. Then he turned and left as quickly as he had come. I turned toward him. My slave contract specifically said I was not to be housed with the hard labor slaves.
It's just as well I hadn't tried to protest. I'm sure it would have earned me another punishment and I'm sure I still would have ended up facing a night of hell in that smelly slave barracks.
Each of my new roommates was at least six inches taller than me and must have outweighed me by 100 pounds - there were black men, white men, and every color in-between. None of them had their bodies shaved - some had thick mats of fur not only on their chests and legs, but also on their backs and butts and arms. From the stench in the room I wondered if any of them ever had a chance to shower or bathe.
There was a moment of stunned silence after the overseer left. This was followed by a commotion of men surrounding me and grabbing me and lifting me off the floor. Hands were everywhere on me and I felt the big sweaty bodies of the hard labor slaves rub against my slim smoothness. For an instant I thought I'd be torn limb from limb as they fought over me. For that instant I thought such a gruesome death might be preferable to my present fate.
But just as the noise and the pressure and the limbs were about to totally envelope me, there was one voice raised above all the rest. The sea of flesh parted and revealed one man who towered above his mates. I was to learn that his name was Press; he was easily six-feet-eight and weighed almost three times what I weighed. Press was covered with thick, scraggly black hair everywhere on his body. His cock stood upright in front of him and looked more like a baseball bat than a human appendage.
Press lifted my whole body with one hand and tossed me down on a bed nearby. He grabbed my legs so my feet were on his shoulders and then he pressed down against me. My knees pushed into my tits and I thought I would break from the pressure. But the greatest pressure was the battering ram against my bottom hole.
He grinned, showing his uneven, dirty teeth as he pushed forward into me. When I screamed he laughed loud and said, "This kid is used to the pencil dicks of the gentry!" Then the air was knocked out of me as he shoved his penis all the way inside me and I felt his massive weight pressing down against me.
Without any pause Press began fucking my ass hard and long. As he fucked he seemed to be staring intently into my face. "You don't know who I am, do you, boy?"
Was he someone I knew before he was enslaved? Was he someone I was supposed to know? I just stared back into his face dumbly. He never missed a beat of his cock pistoning in and out of my ass as he continued, "I was arrested for fucking teenage boys who claimed they didn't want dick up their butts!"
Still looking into his eyes I recognized his face. If he was cleaned up, with his hair combed and his beard shaved, this was a face I remembered from news reports five and six years earlier. There had been a series of rapes of young teenage boys and the man eventually arrested for the crimes had the memorable name of Preston P Preston - the man who now bore the slave name Press.
Being the age I was at that time, my classmates and I all made crude jokes about it. "Hey I gave the boyraper your address with directions to your bedroom," or "I heard you've been wandering through the park late at night 'cause you want a date with the boyraper." The truth was Preston P Preston filled many youthful nightmares and made boys more careful about walking home alone after dark. But now here I was, my upturned bottom being ravaged by the same cock that had caused such terror just a few years earlier.
Press called out to the crowd of slaves surrounding the bed, "This boy may be legal age, but I swear his ass is even sweeter than the one I got arrested for fucking!"
The irony was bitter indeed. Press had been arrested and enslaved for fucking boys the age of my younger brother. And even as I was experiencing the brutal slave's cock up my ass, I wondered what the captain was doing with my brother at that moment. The very same acts that were so roundly condemned and punished when Press did them were performed with impunity by the wealthy and powerful captain. I wondered whether the captain would grow tired of Will and whether my younger brother would end up with his ass pounded by Press.
Press's orgasmic grunts sounded like a harpooned walrus. I thought my ribcage was crushed for sure when the huge slave collapsed on top of me. But he was soon pulled off me as the other hard labor slaves pushed in for their turns. There was obviously some kind of hierarchy in this barracks as it was soon settled which two slaves would enter me next - one in my ass and one in my mouth.
Was it consideration for their mates? Or was it simply pent-up sexual frustration? Each of the slaves shot their loads within three minutes of entering me. I lost count of how many cocks were inside me, until I was aware of Press's fat erection at my lips. Obviously I had gone through all twenty and was starting through the crowd a second time. This time the men were more leisurely about getting their rocks off.
One powerfully built slave with a thick Russian accent held my ears and slid my face up and down on his thick erection as he sweetly recalled using his son in the same way - or as he called it "teaching my boy to take care of his papa." He didn't tell me the age of his son at the time of these lessons, but he told me that was the reason he had been arrested and enslaved, and he also told me I was even cuter than his son had been, with softer lips as well.
I had just finished sucking that big Russian when the door of the slave barracks rattled open. There stood another overseer announcing that their day was beginning and everyone needed to be in the showers within three minutes. So, they really did get to shower after all? But they were still smelly and sweaty by the end of the day. I stumbled toward the showers with the others. The night had passed and I hadn't had one instant of rest.
What next for me? Would I be sent out to work with these massive slaves? Or would I be returned to the house to work with Rye? Was this cramped, filthy barracks my new home? Or would I be returned to the cage I shared with Rye?
As often happens in the life of a slave, the answer to "What next?" was something unexpected. The overseer pulled me from the shower and snapped handcuffs on my wrists attaching them to the back of my slave collar. Then he marched me back toward the house. As soon as I saw the open-backed truck, the overseer shoved a ballgag into my mouth. It was the same kind I had seen on Scott, with holes so a slave could still breathe. At that point I knew that my fate would be the same as Scott's. I would be leaving the Winston estate.
Change is frightening. When you're a slave and have no control of what's going to happen to you and lack any knowledge of your destination, change is terrifying. As much as I hated Captain Winston and as much as I felt degraded and abused in my present situation, I knew that things could be much worse. Knowing how my master had treated me in the preceding weeks, I felt certain that whatever he had planned for me would be a great deal worse than anything I had already experienced.
I was shackled in the cage on the open-back truck facing the big window into the slave bathing room - the same as Scott had been. The nipple of a dildo-shaped water container was placed in my mouth. But I was helpless and couldn't move. All I could do was stare at Rye as he looked at me through the window and plaintively shook his head. Then he turned and went back to work, glancing at me occasionally.
The sun was getting hotter. I knew that hours were passing, but had no idea of the time. Captain Winston walked alongside the truck carrying a bag. I knew this was not accidental on his part. He looked up at me and grinned.
"I'm so glad you're gagged, slaveboy," the captain began coyly. "I'd hate to have to punish you for all the stupid things you'd say if you weren't. We both know slaves don't deserve explanations, but I find myself wanting to share some things with you. Your contract does indeed stipulate that you are to remain my property for two years and fifteen days of your enslavement. And so you shall, boy. But I'm sending you out on loan to a good friend of mine. You shall remain on loan to him until you reach the two year and sixteen day mark at which time you will become his property and his problem."
Then the captain reached into the bag he was carrying and pulled out a small pair of khaki shorts, waving them in front of my face. "I just picked these up in Will's size. That boy has such a narrow waist." I knew that was the costume slaveboys wore to play out the captain's twisted scenario about being captive to African natives. The evil man looked up at me once more and smiled serenely, "Oh, don't worry, I won't let those black ponies at the boy too soon. Not till I start getting bored with him, heheheh."
With that the captain walked away. How many hours had passed? I saw Will through the window being cleaned up and prepared by Rye. He looked my way, his eyes wide. Then he turned. I couldn't see his expression. He kept his back toward me. When I saw Will bend over for his enema, I remembered the day the captain had showed me a photograph of my brother in his Speedos. How innocent had my brother been on that morning some weeks past, never knowing the vile thoughts of the distinguished old man he trusted. Tears began rolling down my cheeks and the truck began to move down the driveway.